


Hidden Away

by VengefulLibrarian



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9640388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulLibrarian/pseuds/VengefulLibrarian
Summary: After being confronted by Abe, Anna spends a night in vigil trying to sort through the feelings that she has for the men in her life. She finds herself focusing on the one for whom, in a normal world, she should feel nothing but animosity. The war, however, has complicated everything. Post 2x10, pre 3x01.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had never considered writing a fanfic prior to the fall of 2016 when Annlett happened to me. At that point, I had so many feelings for this couple that I opened a blank document to try to figure out why I was so impacted by this couple, and this is the result. It has been a delight to find that this fandom has many wonderful authors who write such beautiful things; so, please consider this a meager contribution.

_Did you find some hidden love for the king?_

_Or is it just for Hewlett?_

Abe's words followed Anna as she scurried from his and Mary's room and sought refuge within her own. It took everything within her to silently close the door rather than slamming it. As tumultuous as her heart felt, she didn't have the strength it would take to deal the concerns of both Richard and the major. After all they had been through in the previous weeks, they would both investigate at the first sound of distress within the household.

She leaned against the door, feeling the solid plank press against her shoulder blades. She was grateful for the bit of stability it provided. Everything within her being seemed fragile and wrong. Hot tears tracked down her cheeks, and she held in a sob.

Except for the faint glow from the embers in the fireplace and the sounds of the accompanying crackle, her room was blessedly dark and quiet. She could breathe, if only for a few precious minutes. She had learned that little time could pass anymore without some sort of physical or emotional upset. This war was leaving scars upon them all.

Lacking a handkerchief as well as the desire to locate one, she dragged her sleeve across her damp eyes. _The major would have had a handkerchief handy_ , she couldn't help but think. He often seemed to have whatever she needed when she needed it, always so attentive and watchful when she was in his presence.

She closed her eyes, chastising herself. At what point had her life become so entangled with the major's that a daily necessity such as a handkerchief brought him to her mind?

She pushed herself away from the door, the quick movement causing her to bang her elbow against the doorknob. The pain was sharp and welcome, something to redirect her thoughts. She stalked across the room and sat on the bed to remove her shoes. As she leaned over to unbuckle her shoes, a bit of something white caught her eye.

There, just underneath the bed, lay one of the major's handkerchiefs. He had passed it to Anna one evening shortly after he had returned from his captivity. He hadn't wanted to divulge many details, but the little that he had shared had brought tears to her eyes. Seeing them, he quickly passed his handkerchief to her. She had insisted upon laundering it before returning it to him, but it must have slid off the pile of folded laundry.

And, so, without any awareness of her current struggle, the major had provided for her once more. That fact did not escape her as she gripped the white square and allowed misery to wash over her as she sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

_Love....hidden love...just for Hewlett...?_

The question hung in the air, unanswered, uninvited. If she attempted to answer that question, really looked deep into her soul to answer it, she knew that it would only present her with a litany of accompanying questions.

What was love, anyway? An entanglement of emotions and irrational thinking? Bad decisions, lingering regret.... Or was it—could it be something more?

Once on a hot summer day, Anna had sat on an uncomfortable bench in church, willing her twelve-year-old mind to listen as Ben's father, the Reverend Tallmadge, spoke of love. According to his reading of the Scripture, love was sacrificial---a friend laying down his life for someone else, just as Christ had. In that version, there was no recompense expected. The love was given unselfishly. Her young mind, just beginning to dream of her future, a future that began with a wedding day, latched onto that, and she pondered it naively. Yet, after all the intervening years, had she ever experienced anything even resembling that?

With Abe, their relationship was natural, born out of years of running barefoot through the fields and terrorizing the neighbors' cows. There was so little thought. They just were. It seemed that they would be Abe and Anna, together, as they had always been. It had all seemed so simple, so planned. In spite of the tensions between the loyalists and the patriots, daily life went on much as it always had. She and Abe were engaged, secretly of course, but they knew that their families would have little choice but to accept the relationship once they were legally bound.

They would marry once Abe finished college, he would farm against his father's wishes, they would build their home, and, soon after, they hoped, they would have a family to fill that home. It was a simple as calculating basic mathematical sums.

And then it had all gone wrong. Even before the war began its interference into their lives, Abe's involvement with the Sons of Liberty and his foolish flagpole stunt had thrown events into motion that they had never contemplated. Dreams and hopes dashed, Abe was shortly married to Mary, and Anna accepted Selah's attentions---what little he paid her, at least.

Selah...what had she felt Selah? There must have been something there at one time, but it was so faint and unexamined that she usually dismissed any thoughts of it. Selah had been an escape, a way to run and hide. Marriage to him meant that she could throw herself into helping him grow his business, leaving the past where it was best left. She and Selah both had good heads for business, and they both sympathized with the patriot cause. Passion didn't build a foundation for kept promises, after all, and a stable, unsurprising life had its benefits. She had accepted their life together at face value, and her downgraded expectations meant few disappointments.

Anna fiercely kicked her shoes off, still clutching the handkerchief, and leaned back against the dark wooden headboard. Selah was still with the patriot army, she didn't know when or if he would return, and, truthfully, she rarely thought of him at all. She should be ashamed of that, but she couldn't summon that particular emotion in the midst of her current storm. In fact, anger was really the only thing she was feeling at the moment. White-hot, nearly-righteous anger. If she wasn't so concerned with disturbing the household, she would have thrown any nearby, breakable object at the walls just to experience the sights and sounds of her fury. To make those feelings tangible would have been such a release. Instead, she fumed in silence.

She was angry at Abe for his impetuousness and rash behavior. She was angry at Selah for...well, did it even matter why she was angry at him when he was as good as gone? She was even angry with the major--the poor, injured major. Why couldn't he just be a good redcoat-- a bloodthirsty, awful, proper redcoat worthy of the title “enemy”? Most of all, she was angry with herself for being a fool.

She _hmmmphed_ and flopped over on the bed. Her fingers skimmed over the fine linen of the handkerchief, only stopping when she felt the embroidered initial. _E_ for Edmund.

_Edmund._

From her first inkling that Major Hewlett's feelings extended beyond mere friendship, Anna had determined that she would keep him compartmentalized in her mind. He was often rigid, occasionally oblivious, and definitely the enemy. Eventually, he became a means to an end. But time and situation had changed the circumstances. The stark black and white lines that she had mentally drawn had become shaded and faintly colorful.

He was no longer just the major.

Although most of their time together had been spent with him in his brilliant red jacket and white trousers--buttons glistening, boots shined, looking very much aligned with the redcoats that she had so detested--she had seen the man beyond the regimented exterior. She had met Edmund Hewlett, a man whose quick intellect and grasp of information should have led to his name being legendary within the halls of learning. Circumstances had also dealt him a poor hand, which was possibly the reason that she had first felt kinship with him.

_And here I am_ , she thought, _just another part of his raw deal_. His offer of friendship had come at just the right time for her to use it to the advantage of the ring. _Use him_. And she had. She was nearly Simcoe's manipulative equal with her opportunistic leap into Hewlett's life. _Into his affections._

Oh, yes, she was keenly aware that the major's interest in her grew deeper each time they spent any time together. She saw his eyes linger on her when she walked into the dining room or the parlor. She saw his smile when she said something amusing or asked him about the origin of a constellation's name, a smile so radiant that she couldn't help but smile back. Anna knew enough about men to know that his desire to protect her was not merely a product of his noble character.

Edmund Hewlett was in love.

With a lie. Because that was now the summation of her life. And the major's life was increasingly in danger because of her lies.

The ache in her heart that had begun with Abe's attempt to recruit her to help with Hewlett's assassination swelled, stifling her breath. She was becoming overwrought. The events of the previous evening flashed through her mind. Abe's cool response to her embrace...their discovery by the rangers...the near-unraveling of the whole spy ring...the feel of the heavy pistol in her hand as she fired a fatal shot at the ranger that had tried to assault her. It had all happened so fast, and it had ended with her taking a life. That thought rattled her. She had taken a life...much like Abe was wanting to—no! _No! No, Abe!_ she protested. _It is not the same thing. I killed the man who threatened us all. You want to kill an innocent man whose only crime was to place his trust in someone like you._

Wanting to get out of her corset, she rose numbly from the bed, drying her eyes with the major's handkerchief once more. She would launder it again.

Methodically, she removed the pins from her hair, quickly working it into a braid. Soon clad only in her chemise, she moved silently through the room, listening intently for any noises in the house that would be out of the ordinary. She wouldn't sleep well tonight, if at all, but Mary would likely fare even worse. Mary had to be watchful of Abe, lest he change his mind and act impulsively against Edmund. It would be Mary who would have to act as sentinel on this dark night.

How strange that it was Mary who would be her champion and confidant at this hour. When Abe decided to carry out his rotten plan, Anna frantically approached Mary with a desperate plea for help in stopping Abe. Anna whispered a prayer of gratefulness when Mary, looking horrified at Abe's obvious willingness to take a life in cold blood, swiftly agreed to provide a distraction for Abe.

_May God bless you this night, Mary,_ Anna thought _._

This was not the first time that Mary had surprised her. Even the night that the major brought her back to Whitehall after his miraculous return from capture, it had been Mary who had put her at ease. Anna had tried to apologize for her reappearance at the home, but Mary had silenced her. “Anna, please don't. And don't mind Father. He will come around. After all the major has endured, how could we keep from him the one thing that brings him happiness?” And, with her easy way of summarizing such complex situations, she had bustled on, making sure that all of the house's inhabitants had what they required for the night. At the time, Anna had felt both grateful and amazed as she wondered at Mary's capacity to rise to the occasion and do the necessary thing. Tonight, Mary had again proved her resourcefulness and had very likely saved the major's life.

Her preparations for bed complete, Anna cast about for something to do. Her mind needed something else upon which to dwell. She went to the dressing table to retrieve her candlestick, and her eyes fell upon the book that lay there. _The Castle of Otranto_ by Sir Horace Walpole. The volume, of course, belonged to Edmund. She lifted it gently, caressing the slightly-worn binding, candlelight glinting off the gilt-embossed title on its spine. She decided that Walpole's fantastical tale would be her company should sleep elude her. She carried the book with her, burrowed under the quilts on the bed, and skimmed through the opening sonnet.

_The gentle maid, whose hapless tale_  
  _These melancholy pages speak;_  
_Say, gracious lady, shall she fail_  
_To draw the tear adown thy cheek?_

Anna had enjoyed the few books that she had access to as a child, but adulthood had brought too many responsibilities to allow much time for pursuits of leisure. In fact, she had been in contact with more literature during these last few weeks than she had been during her married life. She had Edmund to thank for that. She clutched the book closer at the memory.

On the evening of her arrival as a resident of Whitehall, Anna found herself uncertain of where to go or what to do since she was not a welcome guest to the majority of the home's inhabitants. Her obligation to Mr. DeJong kept her engaged at the tavern until late. The major had sent two of his men to escort her to the Woodhull's home as a precaution against Simcoe, and she was easily granted access. Seeing no one about, Anna quietly made her way up the stairs to the room that she had been assigned. She laid her cloak on top of the closed lid of the trunk she had quickly packed hours earlier, taking a small amount of satisfaction that the major had not called her bluff and had agreed to corroborate the claim she had made to Simcoe. That action had likely saved her from some very unwelcome advances on Simcoe's part. She breathed out a quick prayer of thanks. Hearing voices coming from directly below, she surmised that some of the inhabitants of the house had gathered in the parlor. In spite of her deep wish to just hide away in this room, in the bed that was not hers, she knew that she should at least give her unwilling hosts the courtesy of a greeting. She left the room and began to descend the stairs.

“You're here,” a voice greeted her from below. It was Major Hewlett, having just walked into the foyer. For the second time that day, Anna was grateful for his presence.

“I was just coming to see about you,” the major admitted. “I was assured by my men that they would make certain that you arrived safely, and it appears that you have.”

She stepped to the floor to where Hewlett waited for her. He was not a tall man, but she found herself looking up slightly at him. “They were most gracious, and I just...I wanted to thank---”

"Well I see that you have arrived at my home after all, Mrs. Strong,” Judge Woodhull interrupted as he also entered the foyer. “Major Hewlett has expressed his concern for your safety if you remain at the tavern. It seems you do have a gift for attracting the attentions of the wrong men.” His gaze was stony as he observed her. _Like my son._ The words hung unspoken between them.

“Judge Woodhull, I most appreciate your willingness to allow me to stay here--”

Richard's grunt cut her off. “My willingness had nothing to do with it. The major has explained that you may be in danger and that he has offered you his protection, and in the spirit of unity with him as the ranking officer of our town, I have deferred to his opinion. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll retire.” With that, he brushed past them and made his way up the stairs, still moving a bit stiffly since his injury.

There was a brief pause until it occurred to Anna that the major was watching her, and she turned back to him.

“Major Hewlett--”

“Mrs. Strong--” They both began speaking at the same time and quickly stopped. Major Hewlett looked to the floor and smiled. Anna paused, then said, “No, please, Major, continue. I would not even be welcome beyond the front door of this home without your intercession.”

He glanced up and met her eyes. “The hour is late, but would you be willing to converse in the parlor? There is a fire lit, and it may be more comfortable for you there.”

“Of course, Major.” He smiled faintly and gestured in the direction of the parlor. She preceded him down the hallway.

“No Mary this evening?” Anna wondered out loud as they entered the large room.

“Mary retired early this evening at young Thomas's bedtime. A headache she said.”

“Headaches can be quite convenient, especially as a means of escape when necessary.” Anna turned to meet Hewlett's eyes.

“Ah. Well. Would you---please, take a seat.” He indicated the large wing chairs angled toward the fireplace, and Anna sank into the one nearest her. Hewlett picked up a forgotten book from the other chair and set it on a side table before settling himself and facing her.

He considered her momentarily before he spoke. “I realize that none of us anticipated this...this change of situation...especially as rapidly as it happened. As you might assume, Richard was not exactly agreeable to the idea of your residence here; however, once I explained the threat that you face at the tavern, he softened considerably. Ordinarily I would not presume to offer you advice, but, in this situation, I would encourage you to...well...maintain a wide berth, so to speak, where Richard is concerned. Regarding Mary, her reaction was not dissimilar to Richard's, and, forgive me, but, given your history with this family, understandably so. She may also need some time to adjust to your presence here.”

Anna was a bit surprised by the major's directness in her referring to her past indiscretion with Abe, but, considering the precarious nature of her welcome in that house, she chose to heed his words.

“Wisely said, Major Hewlett,” she acknowledged, noting that some of the tension left his jaw as she spoke. “I would never have dreamed of placing _you_ in such an awkward position, but I could see no other avenue. When Simcoe...when he--”

“Anna, please,” the major cut her off, dropping the formality of her married name. “Don't distress yourself. I will admit that I felt a great deal of surprise upon hearing your claim to Captain Simcoe, but I could not in any sort of good conscience leave you unprotected, especially when he clearly inspires a great deal of fear within you. As unforeseen as this all is, it may be the best and only solution. You will remain at Whitehall under my protection until the threat no longer exists. In a time of war, no one could fault the necessity of this action. ”

Anna released the breath that she had been holding, gratefulness to the major washing over her. He could have called her out when she bluffed to Simcoe, but, instead, he had chosen to protect her.

“Major...Edmund...thank you. I mean that most sincerely.” He held her gaze, a hit of a smile dancing around his lips at her use of his given name.

She glanced quickly around the room that they alone occupied, and her gaze fell on the book that sat on the table near Hewlett's elbow.

“Were you reading? Before I arrived, I mean.”

“What? Oh, well, yes.” He glanced down at the book, picking it up and observing its spine. “I brought a few volumes from my library when I came here, and I find that reading is a good way to pass an evening when I'm not engaged with more pressing matters.”

“Or damsels needing your rescue?” The thought sprang to her mind, and Anna couldn't help voicing it. He pulled his eyes from the book in his hand and paused briefly before speaking again.

“I can state honestly, madame, that my evenings are more likely to be spent sorting out yet another tiff between men in my regiment who are quite lacking in the social graces. A damsel in need of rescue is not an unwelcome distraction in the least.” He and dropped his gaze to the book in his hand. “ _Richard the Third._ Are you familiar with it?”

“Only in passing, sir. My father would occasionally read some of Shakespeare's works to us after supper when I was a child, but I have not yet had time to read it myself. Might I ask your opinion of it?”

“It's been one of my favorites of the Bard's works for quite some time. I consider it a masterpiece among his many great works. As I was reading, I was noting how frequently he alludes to Scripture in many of the lines, especially in the first act. It seems that...forgive me, it is late, and your day has been long.”

But Anna, as fatigued as she felt, found that she had no desire for the conversation to end. Her days were spent catering to the often unruly patrons of her lost business and her nights had been quiet and bland. Here was warmth and companionship, and she found her spirit drawn to it.

“No, please continue,” she said. “I would like to hear more.”

And, with that, their evening routine began. Typically, Anna did not arrive aback at Whitehall until well into the evening, and, more often than not, she would find the major waiting for her. If he had matters to deal with regarding the regiment, he left word for her with one of the guards and, sometimes, even a note written in his precise hand.

In spite of her pledge to herself to keep her emotions far removed from where the major was concerned, she kept each of his notes, and she would reread them during the long evenings when he was away as she kept herself relegated to her room, avoiding Richard and Mary.

The thought brought her back to the present, and she opened up Walpole's novel, pulling out one such note that she had folded and pressed between the pages. She unfolded it and read the lines:

_Anna,_

_I had intended to be available to greet you after your long day, but I find that I am called to matters that are far less pleasant. Seeing that we are apparently still in the midst of war and I am a soldier pledged to his king, I feel that duty calls me to leave you for this evening as I attend to His Majesty's business. Please accept my apologies; and, should the rebellion cooperate a bit better tomorrow, my evening is yours should you desire my company. If the night is clear, perhaps we may view the heavens as a way of distancing ourselves from the decidedly terrestrial aspects of our respective daily obligations. And, with that, I remain,_

_Your servant,_

_Edmund_

The thought and care that he put into penning those brief paragraphs made Anna feel both pleased and ashamed. Never in her courtship with Abe, or even with Selah for that matter, had she felt so considered. Her duplicity toward the major mocked her. He had laid everything at her feet—his reputation, his feelings, and, nearly, his life, and she continued to play out the charade that she had so unwillingly begun and now felt so loathe to conclude. She carefully refolded the letter and tucked it back into the book.

Anna adjusted the pillow behind her, still clasping the book. She remembered the evening that he had retrieved this very volume from his room. On cloudy nights, they had continued their routine of reading in the parlor or, alternatively---when the major had not had enough punishment from directing the men of his regiment during the day--he would resume tutoring her on the pianoforte. The night that they began _Otranto_ , both were worn from the day's activities and neither had the fortitude to do more than sink into the chairs by the fire, Edmund with the book in hand, Anna with the scarf that she was knitting. Richard was sulking in his study, and Mary was away visiting a cousin. Anna was grateful that they would not have to endure any glares or digs from the Woodhulls that evening.

“Anna,” the major began once they were seated, “I was wondering if you would enjoy a somewhat darker tale this evening. This black night with its high wind reminded me of one of the books that I brought from home. It's long been a favorite, you see, and the weather is most conducive to the mood of the story.”

They had fallen into reading and then discussing a great deal of Shakespeare as well as some of Samuel Richardson's works; and, as Anna had discovered, Edmund seemed to have knowledge not only of literature but also of history and theology, and she enjoyed learning from his commentary.

“Of course,” she answered. “What is this dark and moody story? You have me intrigued.”

“This is _The Castle of Otranto,_ written by Sir Henry Walpole just over a decade ago. Admittedly, this is a departure from what we have been reading. Probably closer to Richardson than Shakespeare. Walpole calls this a 'gothic story,' and it seems to have infiltrated a good deal of the literary world, much to the dismay of many of his fellow writers. They dislike some of the less seemly elements of the story and believe that it degrades its readers rather than uplifts them. I admit, it's not the finest quality of literature; but, in my view, its fantastic qualities make it a good diversion.”

“Well, please, begin the diversion, sir.” Anna smiled and settled in. The book did not appear to be long based on its slim appearance; but she knew he would likely interrupt himself numerous times as he read, usually to impart some detail or bit of knowledge that he had picked up regarding the novel or its author.

“Manfred, prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter...”Edmund began reading, his speech always clipped and precise, and Anna relaxed further. His voice had a soothing effect on her.

Anna watched him as he read, completely unaware that she was making a study of him. She observed his lashes as he looked down at the pages, those dark lashes that nearly rested on the fine bones of his cheeks. The flicker of firelight and candlelight softened the sharp angles of his face even as they changed and shifted with each expression. He was handsome in an aristocratically unconventional way, and Anna discovered that she never tired of watching him as he read. A few times, she had been so caught up that she'd had to untangle the yarn in her lap. Truthfully, she was not much of a craftswoman in the best of circumstances, but she had needed something with which to engage her hands. It also gave her the advantage of having something to drop her gaze to when she found herself being watched by Richard or Mary. If she herself didn't understand the inner workings of her emotional state, she certainly didn't want them drawing any conclusions.

The nights by the fire, few as they were, became the joy that Anna would set before her each day as she cleaned the tables and floors of the tavern and dealt with the rough manners of the soldiers. For fleeting minutes each night, she could forget the war, the ring...Selah...Abraham.... She was thankful that Abe was away in York City during that time. He only added another layer of complexity where it was not needed.

In fact, part of her yearned for things to stay as they now were, to remain in sort of tableau, with Edmund reading to her by the fire or pointing out a constellation in the sharp evening air, unsullied by the truth of the past or future.

Now, on another dark night, Anna opened the book to its last pages. She and Edmund had only just finished it two evenings before, and he had insisted that she keep it. It was a gift of great meaning for her, which she was sure he suspected. In truth, the book had been the symbol of hope that she had kept with her during his capture. At the time the patriots took Edmund, he had only read half of the book to her. In the days following, Anna had crept into Edmund's room and collected the volume. “Edmund, you will return, and you will finish reading this to me _,"_ she whispered to the emptiness of his room. Days later, when Richard evicted her from Whitehall, the book came with her. It stayed on her dresser, and, in times of doubt, she would cast her eyes upon the slim tome and find her hope renewed.

At that time, she didn't dwell upon the feelings that warred within her knowing that both Abe and Edmund were being held prisoner by their respective enemies. Her survival depended on moving from moment to moment of her daily routine completing each routine task as it presented itself to her. Only Mary's pleas shook her into action and into Simcoe's web as a last recourse. Anna's spirit finally broke the night that Simcoe's lies led her to believe that Edmund was dead. She didn't care that the captain's rangy arms had folded around her as she collapsed into him, bereft of warmth and feeling.

But then, from oblivion, a voice.

“Good evening, Mrs. Strong.”

Whatever it was in her spirit that connected with whatever it was in his spirit leaped at the sound of his voice. From the cold embrace of John Graves Simcoe, she cast herself across the room into the safe circle of Edmund's arms. Without thought, she found her lips on his cheek and his light in her eyes, and all of the things in her life that had upended themselves seemed to be made right—even though Abraham remained in captivity. With the cold gaze of Simcoe resting upon her as witness, she could no longer pretend that her role in Edmund's life was purely based upon its advantage to the cause.

They had finished the book, she and Edmund. The first evening that he was able to leave his room and join her in the parlor felt like another triumph. He was still visibly exhausted from his ordeal, his bandaged foot propped on a foot stool in a grudging concession to the doctor's orders, so she had insisted upon reading to him. That night, it was satisfaction that she felt sitting across from him again, knowing that something in her life was born of hope and goodness. She also knew that she didn't want to let that go just yet.

And then came Abe's desperate, foolhardy plan to cut down the major in cold blood, solidifying her suspicion that prison had caused the boy that she had once loved to become someone that she no longer recognized. Anna too quickly found herself facing a question that she had not dared even think because it should have been such an unfeasible thing. As she turned away from Abe, cringing at the sounds of a knife being methodically sharpened, she still couldn't fully defend her motivation for leaving him behind.

_Love for Hewlett...._

If love was willing to sacrifice, then Edmund had shown his love for her. He had not only risked his reputation and standing by offering her his protection, he had also endured a horrific ordeal because of it. Here, finally, was a man who had proven himself worthy of her heart and her trust.

And yet, and yet....

A sudden noise from down the hallway startled Anna from her reverie. She sat upright in the bed, poised to leap out if necessary. She waited. Then she heard it again. A very loud, very obnoxious snore. Likely coming from Richard's room. Anna relaxed, then sagged back against the pillows. The volume of that man's snores could rival the report of any of the canons in Setauket.

The quiet settled in around her again, and she laid Edmund's book beside her on the bed. She had enough confidence in Mary to believe that she was also keeping vigil, not willing to allow any innocent blood to be shed at Whitehall. Edmund remained safe in his room and Anna bore the responsibility for it. And she had done it willingly...for this man who wore scarlet and fought for a king that she despised. _Love was sacrificial...a friend laying down his life...._ The words from long ago sprang to her consciousness, and her tired mind struggled with the depths of their meaning.

There would be no answers tonight. She had saved the life of a good man, and she would have to rest in that knowledge

The fire grew low, and dawn would soon begin to faintly light the edges of the horizon. Anna's eyes felt heavy. Her heart felt...not lighter, there was too much hanging in the balance....but her heart felt an ease that had not previously been there. At least maybe now she could sleep before another day laid its share of trials and joys before her.

Her eyes closed, and she dreamt of freedom.


End file.
